Lost Regard
by throughtheforests
Summary: When Jorah tells Daenerys of his feelings, her reaction does not bode well for him. Or does it? "He remembered how she had felt when he held her in his arms, how her body had complied to the wishes of his own; how fluid she had felt there, with him. Yet in an instant, she had turned on him. She had acted as if he were her foe."
1. Chapter 1

"Restrain him!" Daenerys Targaryen cried in horror, her small frame filled with tremors as she threw her hands defensively in front of her face. Her hair was slightly tussled, a distinction from her normally smooth and perfect grooming. The sleeve of her revealing and beautiful gown was slightly thrown askew off her shoulder, uncovering more of her pale skin.

"No, _khaleesi_, I did not-" but Ser Jorah could not finish speaking before two of Daenerys' Dothraki guards threw themselves on his sides, dragging him from her tent. "Please, Daenerys, you must know that I never-"

"Wait," Daenerys ordered as one of the _khas_ opened the flap to her tent, leading outside to the cold, betraying night. "Do not go just yet. I have words for this betrayer." Her eyes narrowed, and now her eyes were filled with a storm, and her tremors were those of anger, not fear. "If you speak a word of this to any of the Dothraki, I will have your head, should my husband not find it first."

Jorah could only tremble at the harsh words of his queen; but he stood tall, eyes cast down to the ground.

"Yes, _khaleesi_." Daenerys' nostrils flared, and as she moved down towards him, her white hair flew around her face like a halo of incandescent light.

"I am not your _khaleesi_," she replied, furiously. "And you are no longer my knight. Bind him so he may not move. And remove him from my sight."

"Daenerys," Jorah said, with great importance. When he knew he had caught her attention, he held her gaze, wavering. His jaw tightened, and his mouth twitched, but he could not hide it any longer. "I love you."

"No," Daenerys whispered, and Jorah frowned.

"Yes, _khaleesi_, it is true. It is the truest thing I have ever told you. Believe me."

The young Targaryen princess balked, but did not reply.

The last thing Jorah saw before being pulled from her tent was the sheen in her eyes, and the slight movement of her shoulders.

The _khasar_ obeyed their queen.

* * *

They rode in the early morning sun, and Jorah could feel his vision begin to blur. He needed water. His mouth had not been parched as it was now for years, nor had he ever felt so repentant. The _khalessar_ rode around him, shooting him grim looks that lead him to believe they despised him more than the poison sea. And yet, all Jorah could think of was the softness of her lips and the coolness of her skin, as though she bore scales on her body, and not flesh and blood. But those images were shaken from his head as he felt himself begin to slip from his horse, his legs no longer possessing the strength to keep him upright on its back. His hands were bound with a tight rope that chaffed his skin, and so he was powerless to prevent his fall. He did not even cry out when his face hit the muddy ground, but he heard cries from his entourage, and eventually a female voice directed the riders to come to a halt.

"It appears you have fallen, Ser," spoke a familiar voice.

"It appears so, _khaleesi_." Jorah replied.

"Then rise." When he did not, she cried, harshly, "_Akko_!"

Ser Jorah could not see her from where he lay on the ground, but he wondered if there was not a mocking glint in her eye. _Why is she being so cruel_? He wondered. But nonetheless, the former knight pushed himself from the ground with his right shoulder and spat out the mud that had found its way into his mouth. From there he shifted his position so he might sit, and try to push himself up with his feet, but his attempts were in vain. His muscles tensed and shuddered, and he could barely moved. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead, and slid down his face. And yet Daenerys stared down at him with an ice-cold expression. _She is a dragon, though oftentimes I wonder if she should not have been born in the North_. By the shadows on her face, her eyes nearly seemed black. She was forbidding, yet beautiful.

"How sad it is, to watch you struggle," Daenerys commented, riding forth. "I hope you will rise soon enough, _ser_, or you will be killed by my riders."

_Cruel indeed_.

But perhaps it was the price he needed to pay for his crimes. For the depth of his emotions.

* * *

Once more, the night was cold. Jorah stared up at the moon, who gazed back at him with its unyielding and silent inspection. Jorah wished for the comfort of his furs to keep him warm, but more than comfort he wished for forgiveness. He remembered how she had felt when he held her in his arms, how her body had complied to the wishes of his own; how fluid she had felt there, with him. Yet in an instant, she had turned on him. She had acted as if he were her foe. _I will never forgive myself for this_, he mused, retelling the story to himself over and over, knowing it would bring naught but insanity to his mind. _This ill-thinking will only open the gates to madness_, Jorah thought, yet he could not remove the brokenness of her eyes as she removed him from her presence, nor the sorrow in his heart as he listened to her command it to be done. Tomorrow, if he lived to see the light of dawn, he would tell her this. He would make his regrets known.

"Ser," a female voice intoned from the darkness. Jorah, startled, looked to his right, and found Irri, one of Daenerys' handmaids. "_Khaleesi_ wishes to speak with you." She helped him stand, and Jorah shifted his weight onto her as much as he could, to demonstrate the importance of his next words.

"Tell me, please—am I to die now?" Jorah could feel his heart pounding through his chest as it had not since battle, but it was not in fear of death; no, it was in fear that the woman he admired more than any other would kill him with her own blade. Or would be pleased in watching his death. Irri did not reply. Jorah persisted. "Tell me! If I am to die, there are things _khaleesi_ must know."

The handmaid did not reply. She merely motioned with her hand to Daenerys' tent, and helped him move.

"Come, she waits."


	2. Chapter 2

Jorah moved slowly into Daenerys' tent, feeling his muscles relax contentedly at the feeling of warmth emanating from the fires within. But despite this welcomed sensation, the cold within his heart seeped through every layer of satisfaction the flames may have brought.

Jorah suspected that Irri brought him to his _khaleesi_'s tent to be executed.

The knight had taken his queen into his arms, and had kissed her. He had pressed to hers not merely in a reverent display of loyalty, but he had lusted after her. He had felt the scent of her fill him, had passed his fingers through her hair and pulled. He had touched her like a goddess, but she threw him out like a thief. And indeed, Jorah had stolen from her. He had stolen her ability to hide her emotions, for that brief moment.

And now, for his crimes, he would die.

Jorah knelt then closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Ironic that he had avoided death battle after battle, and now the would die at the hands of a small white haired girl whom he had sworn to protect; for she would undoubtedly kill him herself. Daenerys may not have experience as a monarch, but she had honour—and Jorah loved her for it. The Mormont knight had imagined that if he had not been run through by a sword by some gauntleted, angry Stark-not by a fierce woman who, underneath all, was still wide-eyed and fearful, despite all her talk of dragons. Jorah had seen her evolve from a trembling little maiden to a proud young woman. But despite this, Jorah knew his _khaleesi_ possessed more fear than she showed. He could even see that she often doubted herself, which is why she was so often surrounded by advisors. Her fear ran deep, but she put on a brave face and denied it. A _khaleesi_ could not show fear in front of her _khalassar_.

Jorah exhaled through his nose, then took another breath through his mouth, trying to experience the entirety of the moment in which he now lived. Appreciate these last few breaths, Jorah thought. For your boldness, you will die. Now, in his final moments, the knight would not think of his confession as a crime. The crime was that he had chosen the wrong moment. _But when would the right moment be_? he wondered. Deep down, he knew there never would be a truly right moment to declare his feelings for her. That this decision was always a risk, especially since Daenerys was above his station and married... But Jorah grew tired of hiding things. And now he had thrown himself at the dragon's feet, and acted surprised to be singed. It would seem as though I'm now at her mercy for the first time, Jorah reflected, seeing nothing but the darkness of his closed lids. But in truth...I have been at her mercy from the day I fell in love with her. It had not been immediate, he had to confess. But once he recognized the depth of his enchantment, he could not break himself from it.

"Ser Jorah." The coldness of her voice whipped him, and he felt himself flinch, though he kept his eyes pressed tightly together. He did not move. He could feel the heat emanating from a torch nearby.

"I speak with you, Ser," Daenerys intoned clearly. "_Look at me_."

Jorah did as he was ordered, opening his eyes wide. Through them he pleaded for forgiveness, but he would not shame her by begging for his life. But the knight could not withstand the fury he saw within her eyes, and he flicked his gaze to the floor, hanging his head as he often did to show respect. This time, however, was quite different.

"You know of the crime you have committed. My consultants have advised me that the Dothraki customs for such a crime insist on my husband killing you himself, in whichever manner he chooses." Daenerys paused, and Jorah looked up to her face, hoping to see tears or a slip of emotion. But Daenerys looked at him with blank, unreadable eyes. "Drogo will not be coming here tonight. I have not told of him of your transgression. I will deal with you myself." The _khaleesi_'s eyes flicked to her guards, and she waved to them.

"Leave us."

The _khas_ hurried out of her tent, and took with, it seemed, the noise. The flaps of the tent brushed against the ground, and Daenerys waited until the sound of their boots disappeared. Silence descended upon them then, and now Jorah could not break his gaze from her own.

"Daenerys," he began, then paused. He did not quite know what to say. He did not think he would have the chance to speak. "I...I hoped it would not come to this. Truly, my princess, I wished only the best for you...I..." Jorah clenched his jaw, frowning. _Why do you speak_? he thought. _Why shame yourself in your final moments like this? What could you possibly say to sway her judgment_?

"Silence!" Daenerys spoke sharply, the blow from her hand even sharper. Jorah did not move to stop her hand, and winced when her she hit his face. Despite her tiny stature, her strength was undeniable. Now tears brimmed his eyes. He could not help it.

"_Khaleesi_," he spoke without knowing what next he would say—without knowing how he could possibly right this wrong. But then he noticed Daenerys' expression, and creased his brow in shock. She trembled, not out of rage, as he had suspected, but sorrow.

"My bear," she said quietly, under her breath, and in that moment Jorah knew. He moved to rise to his feet, but Daenerys moved more quickly than he. She knelt down so her face was level with his own, and slipped her fingers over his face. "Why did you do this, my knight? Why did you put me in this position?"

Jorah balked. He had not considered that Daenerys would see it this way.

"It is true, my princess," Jorah admitted, still feeling the waves of relief flow over him with every stroke of her thumb on his cheek. "My actions were not well thought out...nor were they selfless. I thought only of myself, of my need to speak my desires...and of my desires for you. Please, _khaleesi_, please forgive me. I meant you no harm. Please, Daenerys..."

"Shh," she hushed him, blinking quickly. Jorah noticed the tears which slid down her face. "Ser, do not beg. It is below you." The Mormont knight went quiet, holding back the flood of words which seemed to escape him, leaving the dialogue to their bodies.

"The truth is, dear ser," Daenerys continued softly, inclining her head to better admire him. Jorah noticed her eyes slip down to his mouth. "I wish to be close to you."

"How close,_ khaleesi_?" Jorah spoke quietly now, too, as if the silence of the night would betray them. Daenerys licked her lips, making them more luscious and beautiful than before. Jorah felt his need for her begin to grow exponentially.

"Close."


End file.
